Hard to Show You
by ValidEntry
Summary: Quinn has a g!p.  What does that have to do with Rachel?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Writing this story because Faberry won that poll and I made a promise. This is g!p. Never thought I'd actually be putting "this is g!p" in an AN. Anyway…**

She approached Puck first. A man whore would surely understand her dilemma. Usually Puck's cocky confidence about sex – who even told their friends he had purchased a clit clamp for one of his "down and dirty" girls? – made her hysterically uncomfortable.

Sometimes, Quinn wondered if Puck's posturing and peacocking about sex was his way of deflecting. Maybe he was still a virgin and his boasting was similar to the cliché that men with small dicks compensated by buying large trucks.

Still, he had a penis and Quinn had a problem. But at the barest mention of her predicament, Puck clamped his sweaty, oily hand over her mouth to quiet her. Quinn's lips felt like they were being invaded by murky lake water. She swatted his hand away and pleaded with her eyes and an uncomfortable shuffle of her feet.

"Puck…this has…never been an issue for me."

"Much as I love being your go-to guy for all things penis…" Puck stopped for a moment to favor her with his patented lip pucker. The one that made him eerily resemble Zoolander.

Quinn hit him lightly against his chest and his smirk morphed into laughter.

"Quinn, my favorite little pressure cooker, or at least you were until this happened to you…"

This time it was Quinn who silenced Puck by yanking at his MOHAWK. Lately, Quinn heard that word in all caps in her head - MOHAWK - because Puck's hair was so outlandishly unruly that it was threatening to take up the entirety of his face. Soon enough, he'd become a modern day Cousin It.

Forcing Puck to level his gaze with her own, Quinn demanded he speak by way of a stormy expression that could've probably wrecked ships if Quinn had turned her gaze to the sea.

"I've never had that problem," Puck wiggled his eyebrows. His suggestive looks only made Quinn think of Puck in a sinkhole of a bar somewhere asking girls for their sign or if they were tired from running around in his head all day. It was too creepy for her taste. And when did she start relying so heavily on clichés when it came to describing Puck?

Finally relenting to the seriousness behind Quinn's expression – or maybe it took that long for Quinn's quandary to reach past the massiveness of that MOHAWK and into the circuits of Puck's brain – Puck patted her gravely on the back.

"So you can't even do the old five to one, the petting of the penguin, the…" Puck yelped and gritted his teeth into silence at another tug of his hair.

Quinn gripped Puck's MOHAWK even tighter before releasing her grip. Her hand came away as if she'd just lubed it up in preparation for masturbation. Maybe hair gel products should advertise to an entirely different market…

Focusing again, Quinn nearly pleaded, "What do you _mean_ by ones and penguins?"

Puck shook his head in apparent disappointment. "Masturbation! I'm talking about masturbation. Are you still able to rub one out?"

Quinn willed herself to stay steady. And to remain upright…well, at least the portions of her body that could maintain that position these days. She was glad she didn't feel the urge to vomit, but she was a few thousand miles away from a pleasant day in Margaritaville. She limply shook her head no and cast her eyes past Puck to watch as Santana appeared from down the hallway. Getting ever closer to them. There was something disarmingly dangerous about the sway of Santana's hips this particular morning. Quinn ignored it. For the moment.

Daring to dart her eyes at Puck again, Quinn wasn't sure which of them was more embarrassed. Maybe it was even Puck. He kept shifting on his feet as if willing himself to run, but then realizing all over again that he was stuck in the equivalent of a conversational mousetrap instead.

Puck popped through the tortuous bubble of silence that had cocooned around them. "I'm really flattered you came to me for help…but I don't think I'm your man. Maybe you just gotta find a hot-blooded woman to go down on you?"

And at that Puck gestured to Santana as she continued her army-like march toward Quinn. With an unmistakable leer, Puck sidled past Quinn. She reached for him and hissed into his ear, "I've already gone down that path plenty, and while it's a nice one paved with many beautiful roses, even she wouldn't be enough for me to get it up at this juncture."

Puck bug-eyed her and whistled lowly under his breath. "Deep shit you're in, Fabray, because I get at least a semi every time I see her."

Groaning from a combination of despair and frustration, Quinn said, "Oh, believe me, that happens to me as well. But not since my…uh…inability to…"

"I get it! Your dick doesn't want to get out of bed. It's unhappy. Take a Xanax or something and see if that helps. I can't have this conversation anymore."

And Puck was gone faster than the time it probably took him to suddenly develop food poisoning any time he had to take a test in Spanish class. Quinn whipped around to follow him when a familiar finger brushed teasingly down her back. It had forever been their signal ever since this sexual battle between them had commenced. Santana always kept climbing into her bunker and Quinn (used to) constantly surrender to the girl. Sometimes by blindfold. Other times on her knees.

Santana breathed heavily into her ear, "Hey Pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me?" Quinn could feel the sparks of lust serenading her from underneath Santana's tone…but none of those notes reached her where it was most necessary for Quinn to be able to sing along.

Quinn's response was a jumble of sounds that Santana didn't seem interested in piecing together. The only words that mattered between Quinn and Santana were harder, faster, deeper. Quinn wasn't even sure Santana Lopez could say such things as go slow, ease up, let's stop and cuddle.

Santana circled Quinn and motioned toward the janitor's closest. "Tina and Mike have it in half an hour, so let's hurry this along."

"Other people use that closet for sex?" Quinn knew she looked like a little kid who'd just been asked to explain quantum theory to a room full of scientists.

There was that finger on her back again, a little more commanding this time. "Your naivety would be charming if I cared about anything other than what you have inside your pants."

Quinn made a valiant attempt to wiggle away from Santana. And found her victory when none other than Kurt Hummel tapped her on the shoulder, causing Santana to mutter "Maybe I'll use the half an hour to masturbate in the closet" before huffing away from Quinn.

Kurt sneered at Santana's retreat before eyeing Quinn carefully. "Puck said I might be able to help you with some biology problem. We're not even in the same class…but he insisted I might have the answer. So, how can I help?"

Quinn held in a breath. Should she enlighten Kurt? Had it reached such a lowly point? Why, yes, judging by the fact that it had been _three weeks_ since anything so much as moved an inch upward in her lower region…it was time to bring in all reinforcements.

Quinn blanched for a moment before launching into her request so fast it was as if she were auditioning for a spot on the debate team. "Will you just look at my penis and see if – I don't know - there might be something wrong with it?"

Kurt blushed, stammered, leaned against a locker. "Is this your...your…way of…uh…hitting on me?"

Quinn opened her mouth to protest when Rachel Berry came bounding past them with that irritating smile affixed to her face. Suddenly, it was as if she and Rachel were on opposite ends of an escalator: Rachel glancing down at Quinn's pants at the same moment Quinn slanted her head upward to take in the plunging neckline of Rachel's shirt. Rachel nodded at Kurt and Quinn but did not stop to say hello. Or offer any acknowledgement that she'd mere seconds ago blatantly stared at Quinn – in that way!

At that thought, Quinn felt a twitch down below. Then a tingle. Followed by a symphony of motion.

Stunned, Quinn sprinted down the hallway after Rachel, leaving a still shaken Kurt in her wake.

She heard him scream out to her, "You better not be going to ask Blaine to look at it!"

Ignoring everything other than the brunette several yards ahead of her, Quinn picked up her momentum right as her penis slammed fully back to life.

**AN2: Some lyrics used from Uninvited by Alanis Morrisette (Puck speaking to Quinn) and Hey Pretty by Poe (Santana speaking to Quinn). **


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn never thought of sex as an adventure. She didn't go around chasing after it like it was a bubble she was desperate to pop. Or a rollercoaster she just had to ride over and over again for the pump of adrenaline. Sex was a necessity for her and it functioned as her most basic form of release. It moved her out of her body and carried her away from her mind. She sought out an orgasm like it was a daily resurrection. The second coming brought anew each day. Going without sex or – to incorporate her brand new Puck-knowledge – the ability to even pet her penguin for _three weeks_ was like a mini-death for her that had played out on repeat to the point where she was sick of this background noise of defeat infiltrating and eating away at her very essence.

But judging by Rachel turning back to ascertain that Quinn was following her, it appeared that maybe Rachel Berry might be her lucky golden ticket. Just the gal to help her pick a new tune and gain back her harmony. Her rapidly forming impression of Rachel's intentions crystallized when Rachel paused at the exit, held the door open for Quinn, and ushered them both to the parking lot.

Quinn considered jerking off right then and there, while Rachel had her back turned. So what if they were out in the open? So what if students were passing them on their way to class? So fucking what? But…Rachel – for reasons Quinn didn't care to analyze – was the sole reason for Quinn's resurgence. It would be downright rude and unseemly if Quinn didn't at least reciprocate. And, Quinn wasn't much of a bragger, but she was fucking awesome at sex. Why not enlighten Rachel to the ways of magic?

Quinn pulled on Rachel's arm as the girl casually walked past Quinn's car. "This one is mine, Rachel."

Startled, Rachel freed herself of Quinn's grip. "I was under the assumption that you drove a VW Beetle."

"And I wasn't under the assumption that you cared enough to know what type of car I drive."

"Well, it is very bright red and hard to miss."

"Can we please concentrate on the part of my body that is hard to miss right now?" Quinn couldn't be certain if Rachel would view her sudden pointing towards her penis as lewd or as a friendly reminder of why they were there.

But it seemed Rachel was as full of questions as Quinn was full of…never mind. Best to let Rachel get whatever words out of her system so Quinn could all the more quickly get a certain something out of her system as well.

Quinn braced herself against the torrent of words about to bombard her from Rachel's lips. "Why are you driving a Toyota? When did you get this car? According to my Dads, this model is prone to sludge in the engine. It caused the pistons in my uncle Eli's Rav4 to bust. He nearly…"

Quinn again – rudely or not, she could give a fuck at this point of near crisis – gestured southward. She was increasingly feeling like a jet plane about to hit cruising altitude…but a voice from ground control was asking her to kindly turn around and land.

Rachel's hesitancy showed no clear signs of dissipating, even as her eyes travelled down to Quinn's bull's-eye. And Quinn was getting further lost in the fog of Rachel's unexpected indecision.

"How can I be sure this isn't some type of prank? Are you hiding Santana in the back?" This isn't your car, Quinn!" Rachel finished her sentence with a diminutive lip bite that only increased Quinn's now pulsating, prickling need. That look on Rachel was so carefree and seemingly chaste, but Quinn knew it rested squarely on the opposite spectrum of innocent. It was perfectly calculated cruelty. And well-crafted.

Quinn was being driven along the highway of lust too far and much too fast. "For the love of God, Rachel, you honestly think I've got Santana waiting to, what, help gangbang you? I know you're prone to wild and random fits of fancy, but calm your thoughts. I got into a minor fender bender last week. My car is in the shop, hence the Rav4."

Rachel clambered backward in what Quinn could only determine was relief. She couldn't be sure if Rachel's reaction was due more to the knowledge that Santana wasn't waiting in the back to ambush her or if she was genuinely happy that Quinn seemed unharmed from her accident. It was the second one that had Quinn revved up just that little bit more.

And it was cause enough for Quinn to sneer out, "Rachel, a car is a car is a car. Get in so I can get inside you."

"How many uncouth and unbecoming sexual innuendos are you going to come at me with, Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn's chuckle was hoarse, almost grating as it drifted over to Rachel, finally cutting through the thickness of Rachel's defenses. Rachel took a tentative step closer to Quinn.

Quinn recognized that the smile she let soar in Rachel's direction was as manipulative as Rachel's earlier lip bite. "These aren't innuendos, Rachel. These statements are more along the lines of me directly pleading with you to please get in the vehicle so that we can commence fucking. Also, you just said 'come at me with.' How should I react to that, Rachel?"

Sighing in that haughty manner that was so distinctively Rachel that the girl should have it patented and subsequently trademarked, she jerked for Quinn's car keys and let herself into the backseat. Quinn caught the barest hint of skin near the apex of Rachel's upper thighs as the girl shifted into position below Quinn.

Sweat unexpectedly sheened across Quinn's forehead. They were back on that escalator again, except they'd switched sides for this trip. Rachel was pushing her skirt up right as Quinn yanked her pants down.

"Do you always sweat this badly?" Rachel sounded mildly repulsed but it didn't stop her from ripping open the condom package that Quinn had tossed her way in the most inelegant manner possible.

Quinn tried her hardest to keep it together. Why was she sweating so fucking profusely? Maybe she needed to stop staring at Rachel's pussy and divert her attention. Perhaps admire the early morning sun for a second or two. Regrouping time, that's all she needed.

She felt Rachel reach for her penis and she craned her neck down to meet Rachel's gaze. The girl's pupils were almost worryingly dilated. It was as if little hearts had formed in the middle of her irises. "Wow, Quinn, you really are massive."

Usually, such a statement would flatter Quinn and she'd be ready with a quip, but all she could do was take in shallow breaths as Rachel kept tugging – fucking tugging! – at her dick. The condom still lay limp and folded in Rachel's other hand. This was not going well.

Sweat was now pouring from Quinn's forehead as if her face had just emerged from one of those ice water facial dunks that Rachel was always raving about. And, still, Rachel wouldn't ease up on her dick.

"Rachel…Rachel…" Quinn was begging by the call of Rachel's name for the girl to slow down. It had been _three weeks_. If Rachel kept this up, it was only going to take _three more seconds_ for the winter of her discontent to end.

Rachel kept chanting "so massive…so massive" as she rubbed the length of Quinn.

Quinn desperately wanted inside Rachel. It was an ache that now consumed her as much as the thrills shooting through her at every touch of Rachel's fingers.

She tried again. "Rachel…Rachel…"

Heart filled eyes blazed at Quinn, making the sweat on her face nearly glow. "So massive…so massive."

And so it happened. How could it not? If Rachel thought Quinn's dick alone was massive, what came out of it was, well, equally worthy of that description.

Rachel squealed and pulled back enough to bump her head on the car window. Quinn grimaced and tried to look away. Might be best to give Rachel a little privacy to recover. Quinn heard Rachel spit and gag and mutter. Blindly, she handed the girl a couple of tissues. And then about a half dozen more.

Rachel grabbed at them and sputtered, "Jesus, warn a girl, Quinn!"

Facing Rachel again, Quinn was put out by Rachel's exasperation. "You're the one who wouldn't listen to me! Going on and on about the massiveness of my Quinnis! I appreciate the compliment, Rachel, but need you pick_ that_ moment to forget anything but the most basic of vocabulary and all of your motor skills with the exception of up and down?"

Wiping the last bit of Quinn's spunk from her face, Rachel smirked and unceremoniously lobbed a crumbled tissue at Quinn.

Shifting upward to pull her panties back on, Rachel laughed merrily. "This was a _very _illuminating experience for me, Quinn. It was certainly not the ending I had in mind, so let's try this again tomorrow. In the janitor's closet. I hear that you perform _much_ better in that particular venue anyway."

Quinn wanted to protest, to defend her Quinnis and its stamina! But she had no hard-on to stand on in this case.

Rachel grazed a teasing finger along the seam of Quinn's pants. "Do you think you could be up for that?"

By the tremor that shook her body at the merest touch from Rachel, she was positive, certain, beyond a reasonable doubt sure that her Quinnis would be massively ready.

Any time Rachel asked it of her.

*THE END*

**AN: Thanks to a certain someone for the information (some of which I took verbatim from a Twitter conversation we had) about the Rav4 and for coining the term Quinnis. Thanks to a certain other someone for a particular drawing that encapsulates Rachel's reaction to Quinn's penis…er…Quinnis. **


End file.
